CROSSROADS

CROSSROADS

Nineteen forty-five was like that
Free-wheeling to the crossroads;
Fifteen miles later; her own birth place;
Travelling was the best part, the wind at her back,
A greeting ahead.  News from home....

Roaming the familiar lanes, sisters
Continuous chatter; away from the
Clatter of feeding hungry hens, pigs and
Cows. She could roam without children,
For a day: Pause for some rest.

A small slip of time away from the chores
That shaped her life. No sooner had the
Ceili begun, it was time for the door: among
Promises to write, feeling satisfied to have rested
Those tired limbs. She’d set off, her frame;

Feeling heavier, cycling up hills, the thrill
Of the annual visit finished; her spirit slightly
Diminished, yet younger. She’d relay through letters,
How when she got back to the crossroads....the
First thing she’d hear; to spoil her wonder

Were her pigs squealing with the hunger....

THE LANE WHERE LOVE WAS LOST

 THE LANE WHERE LOVE WAS LOST

The lane lush with high banks
Yet to be adorned with spring.
New life to creep from the earth
It whispers promise in the wind.
I smell it in the mossy soil
After rain that has left –
A shiny greenness which spreads
A canopy to carpet the edged paths.
What though of the end and edge
Of love that lived in empty houses?

The plastic vehicles of joy
A bike, a scooter and toy tractors
Amongst farming fields and hills.
No rows among parents whose love
Was peeled like paint off the walls
Of now; while un-treaded lawns here
Lie rich in moss. The relics of once-was
Still show – in the faded glory of bungalows;
Rotting, moulding timber and missing tiles,
That which stole planned lives, hopes and smiles?

Swallows will nest where no broom knocks
Them down, though even the bird-song isn’t as sweet
Without the laughter of children.

AFTER THE DROUGHT

AFTER THE DROUGHT

The climate that dampens a human heart
Is the one where the heron thrives, feeding
Nourishment they need; frogs, insects and seeds.
Though seasons that flow soon suffer drought
As humans suffer pain and doubt, until all
That’s left to soothe a heart; is art.

To tap-in to a creative zone; find
Calm through all climates; like a herons
Individual-path of flight. Put the human
Mind to use. Make no excuse for unnecessary
Hardship; find your gift then feed your art
To find some peace within your heart.

WORDS

WORDS

It was really aggression
When it came to it
You burnt anger as fuel
And blamed the excess
On me.

I tried to oil your mood
But it caught fire,
I watched the road,
Willing it to clear
Like my splitting head
Afraid to block ears,

Held a barrier that bounced
Off the steering wheel
The dash, the roof
Through windows
And gaps.

I shuddered but it didn’t
Stop, it kept rolling
And rallying, raging;
Collapsing my world.

WET DAYS

WET DAYS

It was Monday
Everyone at school or not yet born.
I remember every square in the pavement.
Wet days remind me of mum wearing a sad face,
Walking towards the village determined
To fill shopping bags with the beginnings
Of busy meals for milling children.
It was the only time I felt close.
Sometimes she’d say something,
Tell me who lived in which house
And how nice they kept their gardens.
In days when it rained
Our closeness dissolved in stooped shoulders,
The anticipated heavy bags, against the rain.
When the sun kinder, other women
stopped to chat;
I didn’t like that,
They came into our space,
Mine, mums and cracked pavements.
She measured her marriage against other couples
Who passed in cars, or walked side by side
Chatting, smiling, swinging shopping bags in unison.
Too proud to carry shopping or feelings -
My dad; being a farmer,
Never looked inside the heart.
On rainy days he was in the pub
Until closing-time.　
At home, he opted for sleep and
Peaceful isolated dreams.
Mum pulled the scarf around her head,
The wind flapped her mackintosh,
Her slim legs moved purposely through life.

QUENCHED

QUENCHED
It bugged me at the beginning;

Relying on other peoples wells

To quench my thirst. My own

Myriad ran dry.

I crouched, over

Other people’s supplies;

Drawing up slowly, as

Droplets fell back down

Causing plopping sounds....

I watched as the ripples,

Awakened something inside

That cool shimmering rim.

Can’t begin to tell you

How it felt, after being

Empty for so long.

WILD THINGS

WILD THINGS

She waited for me to admire the house

While I absorbed the trees along her lane
I was never invited back again.
kicking leave’s beneath my feet;
Chestnuts sticky and sweet, sycamore
Seeds cascading the air;

Hair full off twigs. My school friend

Didn’t care for the wild things, that
Autumn brings. Watching, while I jumped;
Shaking conkers from trees.
Not one bit pleased.